


Another Heartbeat Than My Own

by nessbess



Series: Werewolves of Chicago [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, werewolf!Ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessbess/pseuds/nessbess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey sets up a training exercise to help Ian learn to control and develop his werewolfy abilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Heartbeat Than My Own

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Megadeth's She-Wolf
> 
> This one's in Ian's POV, which I find a lot harder to write than Mickey's for some reason. I hope it's not too OOC.

Ian's feet seemed to fly over the pavement, barely touching the ground as he ran. He felt the urge to change - to drop to all fours in order to harness even more momentum, but he tamped it down. Southside Chicago was not the place to reveal that you were anything that didn't fit into the boundaries of the norm, be it a preference for men or the predisposition to sprout fangs and howl at the moon.

Turning his face into the wind, Ian's nostrils filled with Mickey's scent and he paused, letting his eyes slip shut as he breathed deeply through his opened mouth, tasting the air. The smell of barbeque Pringles, cigarettes and cheap deodorant that Ian had come to associate with Mickey seemed to come from every direction, assaulting his senses and leaving him confused. Centering himself with a deep breath, Ian tried to focus on the individual scents that permeated the air, determining their freshness and proximity as Mickey had coached him. The strongest scent was at the Gallagher's home. Ian ignored that one, already knowing that Mickey wasn't there, and focused on the scent nearest to him. Opening his eyes, he began to run again.

"Yo, Ian!" Kev called out with a wave and grin as he noticed the redhead enter the bar. He tossed a dirty wife beater at Ian, who instantly recognized the shirt Mickey had been wearing the day before. "He said 'Nice try, but you'll have to do better than that if you want to get off'," the bartender quoted with an amused quirk of his eyebrows. "You two are into some kinky shit, man," Kev continued. "Next time keep it out of my bar if you aren't going to give us a show, yeah? I've got a hard enough time keeping this place clean without Mickey's moldy clothes laying around behind the bar." Ian flipped him off with the hand holding the grubby shirt, hearing Kev chuckle in response as he left the Alibi.

Ian had awoken that morning with a stab of panic when he realized that the space where Mickey should have been was empty. The fear was only assuaged when his phone began to sing the chorus of Megadeth's _She-Wolf_. He wondered when Mickey had stolen his phone to change the ring tone as he answered with a fond smile.

"Where the fuck are you?" Ian said with no preamble.

"Fetch, Sparky!" Ian could hear the smirk in Mickey's voice over the crackle of the phone. "If you find me in less than thirty minutes, I'll suck your dick. Over thirty minutes, you suck mine. Tick tock." Ian was scrambling out the door almost before Mickey had hung up. 

The only problem was that Chicago - even just counting the Southside - was a big place. If the shirt in the Alibi was any hint, Mickey had hidden clothes or anything that bore his scent all over the city. Ian would be hard pressed to find him on the basis of scent alone.

He thought about what Kevin had told him. _You'll have to do better than that_. Mickey would have known that his sense of smell would be the first thing that Ian would employ. He tried to think back to what Mickey had attempted to teach him about his new senses.

Ian knew that Mickey was smarter than most gave him credit for; he just couldn't be assed to put in the effort to learn the things he considered to be beneath his notice. Which included most things that didn't involve sex or alcohol or fighting moves or random quotes from old bruiser movies. That he had spent so much effort not only learning about lycanthropy but also attempting to teach Ian what he had learned... It was humbling and filled Ian's chest with a floating feeling that he knew would make Mickey scowl and punch him if he ever mentioned it.

Mickey had taught him what he already was able to discern for the most part - that all of his senses since he'd been bitten had been enhanced. But Mickey had also taught him how to control them - in theory, at least. He could now pick out the individual smells and distinguish their freshness and distance, as well as feel the subtlest changes in the pressure of the air around him as the air molecules bent and refracted in response to the movement of things nearby. If he focused really hard, Ian could almost seem to slow time, so that he could see the sweat as it beaded on Mickey's neck and catch a fly before it could hand on his arm. The night Mickey had taught him to focus his hearing, Ian had lain awake, listening to Mickey's heartbeat slow in sleep, his throat clogged with wonder.

Standing on the sidewalk outside of the Alibi, Ian bowed his head a closed his eyes, searching for that feeling again as he just _listened_. At first, he could only hear the roar of traffic, the squeal of the L, the drunken laughter of the patrons of the Alibi. When he relaxed, clearing his mind, Ian began to hear it - a dull, rhythmic double beat - quiet at first, but growing in strength as he focused on it until it was all that he could hear.

Ian kept his head down as he began to run, following the sound of Mickey's heartbeat. He knew his eyes were glowing a bright blue. He paid no heed to where he was running, simply following his siren's call, until he found himself standing on the doorstep of Beverly's Bakery and Cafe. Grinning wryly, Ian walked inside.

Mickey sat at a table in the back of the cafe, casually sipping at a coffee from a dainty mug that contrasted starkly with the tattoos on his bruised knuckles and the dirt smudged on his nose. At his elbow sat a small plate dusted with chocolate crumbs, the echo of which sat in the corner of his mouth until his tongue flicked out to greet them. He easily ignored the nervous glances the staff and other patrons sent his way as he kept one eye upon his stopwatch. When Ian slipped into the booth across from him, Mickey looked up with a grin.

"Thirty one minutes and ten seconds," he said triumphantly. "You can suck my dick, Gallagher."

**Author's Note:**

> Full moon next part.


End file.
